Glandular Fever
by ArcaFeretory
Summary: "Then the question that ruined her day was asked." - AU. In which I bundled all the awkward situations I could into a oneshot... and then made them worse.


**This is the dictionary definition of awkward. Just in case you were wondering. I had glandular fever a few years ago and it really is _super_ awkward.**

* * *

Despite how her father was happily ignoring her, Marceline just kept glaring at him. It's not like she could do much else, more's the pity. Still, it might've been nice if he'd even acknowledge her excellent scowl just once. Instead, he kept reading his book, one leg bouncing gently as he waited.

She worked her mouth, trying (in vain) to muster enough sounds to protest this whole thing she was being put through. All she managed was a croak and no sooner had the strangled noise emerged than Hunson lifted an eyebrow in her direction.

Marceline tapped a finger against her knee, jaw clenching this time. Not because she thought listening to her father was a good idea (it rarely was), but because it damn well _hurt_. To make sure he wasn't getting the wrong impression, however, she rolled her eyes.

A door opened a little way down the corridor and a woman stuck her blonde head out. "Abadeer?" she called. The doctor offered a small smile and waved them in when they stood.

Now, while Marceline was incredibly thankful Hunson hadn't insisted they see Dr Bennet, that didn't mean she was alright with him sitting in on this session. She'd been prescribed medication before, she knew how it went. But apparently, standing in front of her dad brandishing her hands back at the leather seats of the practice wasn't getting her intention across.

He lowered his brows. "I'm coming in with you, Marceline," Hunson said gruffly. "I'm your father and I have to know that you haven't contracted something… distasteful."

She shook her head fiercely. Having him in there was _not_ a good idea. Marceline jabbed her finger a little more heatedly back at the seats, unconsciously giving ground every time he took a step to the door. She tried to turn him around, she tried pushing him back, she tried everything she could think of. But somehow, he still managed to get into the office before her.

With a resigned sigh (knowing that today was going downhill a lot faster than she could chase after it) she shuffled in after him. When she sat, it was as far away from him as she could get. That way, when he exploded later the shards wouldn't kill her.

Maybe.

"So," the doctor – Dianne, according to the placard on her table – began, smiling massively. "I hear you're not well. Marceline, right?"

She nodded, pointing to her throat. As she opened her mouth to speak though, Hunson glared at her. "She's been telling me her throat feels like sandpaper for a few days and that it hurts to talk," he grumbled to the doctor.

Dianne nodded, wheeling her chair around to Marceline. "Do you mind if I check your throat for swelling?" she enquired politely. At Marceline's mute negative, the doctor pressed her fingertips to her neck, just below her lower jaw. The gentle inspection was mildly uncomfortable; it was tender and didn't like the pressure. "Definitely swollen," Dianne agreed with Marceline's own diagnosis of a few days ago.

As any self-declared smart-arse would be swift to do, Marceline lifted one brow as if to say 'you don't think?' Hunson huffed at her, but Dianne – luckily – merely smiled. Then the good doctor brandished a torch.

"Open up and say 'ah'?" she asked, evidently knowing that Marceline would find it ridiculous.

Dispensing with the 'ah' (because she wasn't that lame, not because it hurt… obviously), Marceline opened her mouth. This, too, was awkward, mostly because having a torch shining down her throat wasn't something done on a routine basis. She felt the need to roll her eyes again.

Dianne sat back, wiping the torch with one of those hygiene rag things. "Glandular fever," she announced with a grin. "You'll probably be right as rain all on your own in a few weeks, but I'll prescribe some antibiotics anyway."

With wide eyes of a sudden, Marceline waved her hands; shaking her head for good measure. She couldn't speak (or was being forced not to anyway), but she figured mouthing the word 'no' a few times would be good.

"No?" Dianne queried. "Are you allergic?"

Marceline kept shaking her head, adding 'just' to her 'no'. She didn't really expect to be listened to, but hopefully the doctor would realise she didn't want them.

"Against your religion then?" she went on, a smirk flashing across her face.

Still Marceline kept shaking her head.

"Let me ask you a few quick questions just so I don't give you something unfortunate then," Dianne concluded, pulling a notepad from her desk drawer. In defeat, Marceline slumped into the back of her chair. Looks like today really was going to suck epically.

"What kind of questions?" Hunson asked, not even bothering to hide the suspicion in his voice.

With a quiet lilt Dianne replied, "The kind your doctor wouldn't have had to ask you when you got glandular fever." She smiled at him. "I'm sure you know why." Then she turned back to Marceline. "So… are you pregnant?"

It was really surprisingly difficult to bite back the laughter, even if she _had_ known the question was coming. She shook her head.

"On the pill?"

More head shaking, it was ludicrous… Oh wait.

"Sexually active?"

She froze. Marceline's eyes darted to her father, but Hunson was just sitting there waiting for another negative to be jotted down. Yeah… that wasn't going to happen.

Marceline sighed and nodded.

As expected, Hunson's eyes did that thing they do when he's really pissed off and his face turned that funny shade of pink. "You what?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.

She tried a smile and a shrug, but it didn't have the desired effect.

Of course, that's what prompted Dianne to frown and inspect her really very intently. Then the question that ruined her day was asked. "If you're active and not on the pill, how do you know you're _not_ pregnant? Condoms aren't foolproof you know."

Hunching her shoulders self-consciously she pointed to a piece of paper on Dianne's desk and mimed writing. The doctor warily pushed both it and a pencil across the table. In the manner of students trying not to let their peers copy answers in an exam, Marceline scrawled two tiny sentences across the paper and handed it back.

When Dianne read the words she started laughing. "I guess that explains it then. Sorry."

"What does it say?" Hunson demanded, standing.

"I'm afraid she's asked me not to tell you," Dianne replied softly.

"She is my daughter and I have a right to know."

Of freaking _course_ he'd play the father card. The doctor glanced Marceline's way, worriedly. She knew there was only one way this was going down. Dejectedly (and with another sigh for good measure) Marceline bobbed her head.

Hunson snatched the paper off her and his eyes skipped over the lines. Once, twice (then he frowned) and read it a third time.

_I'm gay. Don't tell dad_.

That's all the paper said. But it was enough for him to shut his mouth and sink back into his seat. With luck, he'd be quiet for the rest of this.

Softly now – kind; because this trip to the doctor's had clearly turned out much different to expected – Dianne scribbled out a prescription. She passed it to Marceline with an apologetic smile. Hunson lurched woodenly to his feet and slipped out the door.

"Sorry," Dianne whispered even though he was gone. "It's my fault."

Marceline shook her head and shrugged. It really was ever so hard to convey 'it's fine, he would've found out eventually this just isn't how I imagined it going down' without words. She had no idea if Dianne understood, but she'd take it on faith that the message was received. Mostly.

"Get better soon."

Flashing her a big smile, Marceline nodded and hurried outside, hoping her dad hadn't caused some kind of nuclear disaster in the minute he'd been alone. She found him at reception talking to Dr Bennet, the woman's unruly red hair bouncing with every gesture. Marceline had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes yet again. She'd always suspected that – had Gabrielle Bennet not been married to her perfectly lovely fellow doctor, Heath – her dad would've been hard pressed to contain himself around the woman. Honestly, he was pushing forty and acting like a lovesick fourteen year old. Besides, it was even weirder because Gabrielle's daughter was Marceline's best friend and thinking about that was just plain gross.

Marceline waved at the enthusiastic doctor as she stopped by the desk. Hunson cut himself off mid-word and eyed her strangely before muttering something about the prescription and snatching the slip of paper off her and hastening away. She could only shake her head. He was being a tiny bit melodramatic about all this.

"Hello there, Marceline," Gabrielle said brightly. "What brings you in here today?"

She gestured at her throat and made a face she hoped conveyed how she was feeling about all this. Much like her daughter, Gabrielle was adept at reading people and correctly deduced the problem.

"That's rough," she commiserated. "You make sure to get well soon, then, yes? I'm sure the world is paler for your lack of singing." The smile on her face was anything but teasing, then again, Marceline knew for a fact that Bonnie got her biting wit and surprising sarcasm from her mother, so this could just be one of those things.

She smiled, but narrowed her eyes just in case. Before she had a chance to try and mime some sort of response, she was interrupted. In the best way.

"Meals on wheels delivery service," Bonnie chimed, sliding up to the counter with a wink thrown Marceline's way. "Dad called and said you were loaded," she said to her mother. "So I thought I'd drop off some food." She deposited a plastic bag on the desk.

When Gabrielle opened it her smile widened. "And don't _I_ have just the best child in the world."

"I have my moments. Hey, Marceline. Did your dad finally get you down here then?"

Marceline lifted an eyebrow and looked around herself rather pointedly. The rhetorical '_obviously_' was implied. And Bonnie knew her well enough to see it.

"How did that go for you?" Bonnibel leaned over the top of the desk and rummaged around for a moment before coming up with a pen and notepad. "For replies that aren't charades," she said with a dimpled smile.

With a little mock bow, Marceline flipped the book open and scrawled across the first page in a hand that very few people had managed to translate. Bonnie among them. Naturally. Her red haired friend peered over her shoulder as she wrote, the proximity inducing a shiver as expected.

_Glandular fever has ruined everything_, she scribed, shooting a pointed look at Bonnie.

"How so?" asked Gabrielle.

_Apparently admitting to my prescribing doctor that I'm gay when my dad doesn't know is kind of a big deal_.

Bonnie started laughing. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said around her mirth. "That sucks. How did he take it?"

Marceline looked around her melodramatically. _Dunno, he bailed. My prognosis is 'not well'._

"Oh, honey," Bonnibel said, wrapping her up in a hug. "That's awful. I'm sure it'll be fine. Mum, can I be her buffer this evening?"

Gabrielle arched an eyebrow. "I'm torn," she mused.

_Come on, Mrs B_, Marceline wrote hastily. _Dad thinks she's a saint. It could only help_.

"Mmhmm, sure. Fine, but I want you home before lunch tomorrow, Bonnibel."

"Noted, captain," Bonnie said with a salute. She tugged Marceline's sleeve and dragged her towards the coffee room. "Come this way for one minute, I want a hot chocolate that I don't have to pay for."

She slouched after her friend and lounged in the doorway while she waited. Her dad reappeared and she could just imagine the conversation they were having.

'Oh, Gabby, did you know she was _gay_? This is terrible! And sleeping around, the nerve of teenagers these days,' her dad would lament.

Gabrielle would probably say something enlightened but incriminating because the woman couldn't lie to save herself. Then Hunson would find out that Gabrielle and Heath had known for a while these horrible, _appalling_ things about Marceline and he'd have conniptions. Why would she keep this a secret from him? Oh, why?

Bonnie's arm slipped through hers, wrenching her from her morbid contemplation. And when she looked down, Bonnibel was smiling at her in the way that made her stomach try to tie itself into all kinds of weird shapes; her green eyes twinkling with the kind of happiness that was hard to fake.

"Let's go," she murmured, heading off. "I'll drive you home."

'Thanks,' she mouthed, gratefully.

"There you are," Hunson said when they reappeared at the desk. "Hello, Bonnibel. We're going home now Marceline, come on."

Ignoring how it was kind of inconvenient to have Bonnie's arm wound through hers when she was writing, Marceline put her borrowed pen back to the notebook. _Bonnie's driving me_, she showed him. _I'll meet you at home_.

He shook his head, but caught a strangely weighty look from Gabrielle and sighed. "Fine, but we're talking about this as soon as I get back."

Marceline's mouth twisted sourly, but she nodded. Bonnibel dragged her out of the practice as fast as she could after that, leading her around the side of the building to where she was parked.

"I've got to stop off at home real quick," Bonnie said, gunning the engine. "Is that okay?"

She could only nod and smile, but that's all Bonnibel needed. Her friend filled the car ride with songs and anecdotes about her day. It was highly amusing, listening to Bonnie talk about that one kid in her chemistry class who just could _not_ get things right and still managed to pass. The class clown, she said. Of course, the girl with the pyromania problem always made Marceline worry. Seriously, a kid with such crazy fondness for fire should be in rehab or something, surely. And what if something happened to Bonnie? The girl would be in a lot of trouble.

They stopped only long enough for Bonnie to flounce around her room and pack an overnight bag and then headed off to Marceline's house. It always seemed so thoroughly amazing how much freedom Bonnie was afforded by her parents. It contrasted starkly with Hunson's controlling nature. Of course, he had let a lot of leeway slide in when it came to Bonnibel and her 'good influence'. If he only knew.

"So," Bonnie began once they were seated on the couch in Marceline's living room. "What happened exactly? I mean; broad strokes aside."

Marceline shrugged. _Doc asked me those necessary questions so I didn't end up with conflicting medication and he found out I'm gay. It was an uncomfortable situation. Let's not have a repeat, thank you._

"God, you're so socially awkward."

_Pretty sure this isn't a conversation for most social situations, Bon_, Marceline pointed out. _And it's certainly not one I wanted to have with my father in public with strangers and no voice to defend myself with._

Bonnibel's face crumpled into something filled with sympathy. "I'm sorry. That sounds bad. But it _did_ have to come out sooner or later."

Marceline smirked at the pun but before she could pen a reply the door opened.

"Good," Hunson said, shrugging out of his coat. "How long has this been a thing you've kept from me?"

That actually required a bit of thought. She looked to Bonnie who only offered a shrug. _The whole being gay thing has been for a while_, she wrote. _The other bit is fairly recent._

He bristled. There was honest-to-goodness _bristling_ going on. How about that.

Hunson's gaze – livid as it was – swept to Bonnie. "And did you know about this?"

"Of course, she's my best friend," was Bonnibel's instantaneous reply. Spoken like she thought Hunson was an idiot. It warmed Marceline's heart.

Hunson sighed heavily. "I just wish you'd have taken this a little more seriously, Marceline. You're gay, fine, that I can live with. But… throwing yourself around…"

"Excuse me?" Bonnie asked in shrill voice two notes away from being something only dogs could hear. He blinked at her, but before she could _shriek_ anymore, Marceline scribbled something down in her book.

_What do you mean by that, dad? You really think I'm that stupid?_

His mouth worked. "Explain?"

_I'm not a tart you know, dad. It's not like I just grabbed someone and said 'yeah let's have a go'. I've been seeing someone._

Once again, Hunson's mouth did a fish-flailing thing. "For how long?" he breathed. Marceline had a suspicion that question would probably get old.

This time, Bonnie smiled in that sly way she had that only Marceline ever saw. "About two years," the redhead provided when Marceline couldn't think of how long it had been.

"Oh my god, that long?" His eyes narrowed, fixing on Bonnibel. "How do you know?"

"Best friend?" she offered with a coy shrug.

"Is it serious?"

Marceline was oddly amused that he was no longer directing questions to her but at Bonnie. At least she didn't have to write really fast to keep up with the conversation.

Bonnie opened her mouth, but in a shocking first, Marceline's hand was faster.

_Yes_, she wrote in big block letters, holding up the book for her dad to read. Bonnie's eyes widened and then her face softened again straight away.

"How did I not know?" Hunson asked, hushed.

"She's pretty subtle," Bonnie murmured, patting Marceline's knee.

Marceline rolled her eyes (yet _again_) and held up a page that read, _You're just blind_.

His eyes shifted between the two of them, not sure what to ask next. "Do you know him… uh, her?" he asked Bonnie softly, receiving only a short nod in return. "Is she nice?"

Bonnibel's face shifted into something unusual. "Not sure I'm the one to ask that. Marceline?"

With a cheeky smile, Marceline turned her page and wrote, _The best_. It earned her a positively blinding smile from Bonnie. Worth it.

His next query was concerning and made Marceline shift awkwardly in her spot. "Do… Can I meet h… her?"

"Uhm…" Bonnie sang, glancing at Marceline again, looking sheepish this time. "Yeah, maybe not me for that one. Marceline," she said ever-so-sweetly. "Can your dad meet your girlfriend?"

Normally Marceline would have a biting retort for that. But alas, she couldn't speak. So she settled for a less than fiery glare directed towards Bonnibel. Her dad remained clueless.

Slowly, Marceline wrote, _Yes, dad. I do believe you can meet her. Can you be nice?_

"I'm amazed," he said drolly. "You managed to convey sarcasm through the written word. That's incredible."

_I try_.

Bonnie was trying so very hard not to laugh.

"I can probably manage to be polite to the girl for fifteen minutes," he replied in tones so dripping with sarcasm it was pretty unbelievable that they even managed to float through the air and reach Marceline's ears.

_Good. Dad, meet Bonnie._

His eyebrows vanished. She didn't even see them move. One second they were on his face and the next they simply… weren't. That was a neat party trick.

"You… _what_?" he spluttered. "Bonnibel?"

"Hi, Mr Abadeer," Bonnie said deadpan. "I'm dating your daughter."

Thoughts visibly raced across his face, the conversation from the doctors making _quite_ the entrance. That particular snippet was blatant based on the way his face went this lovely crimson colour and he coughed, scratching the side of his neck. Yes, he was a genius of a man.

"So you… ah… Well. Alright then." He paused, trying to fight down the pigmentation in his cheeks. "That's… wow. I'm just… Does your mother know, Bonnibel?"

"Oh… yes. She's known for a while. Unlike Marceline, I'm not very subtle."

This time it was Marceline's face that flushed like a tomato.

Hunson stood, not quite able to make eye-contact with either of them. "I think I'll just… go. Yes, that's… Hm." With that eloquent statement, he shuffled swiftly from the room, muttering to himself.

"That went well," Bonnie said, glancing after him before beaming brilliantly at Marceline.

_Not as well as with your folks_.

Bonnie waved a hand. "Psh, they're basically hippies in lab coats. Of course they took it well. The fact that I'm still sitting on your sofa bodes well here though."

She was right. Still, Marceline felt the need to point out one thing. _Glandular fever ruined everything._

"Why do you say that?"

_I kinda wanted to say some of that out loud and I didn't get a chance._

Bonnie's smile was devious. "Oh really? Like what?"

Marceline flipped back through the book to the bit where the bold 'yes' was written and showed it to Bonnibel. Then she wrote underneath in smaller, slanted writing, _I love you_.

If the smile Bonnie had worn before was brilliant, this one could've sustained its own planetary system and maybe provided a renewable power source for the entire galaxy. She threw her arms around Marceline's neck and kissed her cheek. It was sort of tight; like she was afraid Marceline would vanish like Hunson's eyebrows.

"Good. I love you too, you idiot."

Carefully (aware her dad was probably still in the house somewhere), Marceline wound her arms around Bonnie's waist and rested her chin on the redhead's shoulder, burying her nose in her collar. Clenching her fingers into Bonnie's coat, she whispered hoarsely, "I do love you, Bon. Heaps."

"Shut up," Bonnibel scolded, pulling away. "No speaking."

_I just wanted to say it out loud._

"You are the biggest sap in the world."

Marceline snorted but wasn't given any time to write something in response because Bonnie kissed her. Not on the cheek, but in that desperate way she sometimes used when she was trying to say something without words. It was effective, if impractical and always made Marceline feel static.

"You'll get sick," Marceline rasped against Bonnie's mouth.

"Shh. I don't get sick, haven't in nearly eighteen years."

"Don't risk it."

"Shut up and let me kiss you, alright? My parents are doctors."

That was valid logic and Marceline didn't _really_ want to argue. She dropped it. Much to Bonnie's smug satisfaction.

Bonnibel came down with glandular fever a week later.

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**I don't have infinite amount of time to be writing oneshots. Don't be alarmed if a few Wednesdays are lacking. It's just life.**


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